


Already Praying

by genee



Category: Smallville
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-10-12
Updated: 2005-10-12
Packaged: 2017-10-12 11:04:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/124194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/genee/pseuds/genee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Clark tells himself he only goes with guys he'd blow even if they didn't pay him, but they do pay him, and the cash feels almost better in his hands than their hips.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Already Praying

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sinisterf](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=sinisterf).



Clark lives in an old building with a rickety fire-escape and square-paned windows and a rooftop view no one but him even seems to know about. There's a crack in the foundation and a leak in the west wall, steam heaters and window air and he pays too much rent for a studio apartment he shares with a family of field mice who somehow lost their way, but it's close enough to MetU and it's not like dorm-living is a real possibility for him, so, here he is. His neighbors are mostly quiet and hardworking and Jaime from upstairs is a student, too, struggling to make ends meet, and besides, it's what he can afford. Or almost afford, anyway. And that's how he gets hooked into this catering gig, which is what Jaime calls it, and really, it's not so bad.

Jaime's been catering for three semesters straight and Clark's never seen her come home bruised or bloodied or even shaken up. She comes home just like everyone else in the building, tired from another long day, and sometimes her shoulders are sore or she has blisters on her feet, but more than anything she's happy she doesn't have to work every night of the week just to keep up, and Clark definitely sees the appeal there. Being a normal college student is more involved than he anticipated, and Metropolis demands a lot from him, it's a big city, and there's always somewhere else he needs to be, someone else he needs to save, and in Clark's experience there aren't a lot of jobs out there with hours flexible enough for someone like him.

Anyway, Jaime says it's just a job, and she honestly seems okay with it, much more okay than Clark is with the way their landlord leers at him in the stairwell, his hand on Clark's arm like he thinks he deserves to touch, deserves Clark's bare skin beneath his fingers, deserves a little more for every day Clark's rent is late. Clark was raised on a farm, he's no stranger to making payment arrangements, to trading goods for services, but he was also raised by Martha and Jonathon Kent, and there's no way that's an arrangement he's willing to make.

At least with the catering gig, Clark makes a hundred bucks just for showing up and looking pretty in his server's uniform, and the rest is up to him. He tells himself he only goes with guys he'd blow even if they didn't pay him, but they do pay him, and the cash feels almost better in his hands than their hips do, soft skin and round bones and he's always careful with them, careful to pay close enough attention not to hurt them but not so much that he notices how one-sided it is, how they never touch him any more than they can help, just fingers in his hair, pulling and letting go just as quick, and it really is just a job, a pleasant one, but a job nonetheless. It isn't everything, that's for sure, and it's easy for Clark to smile, after, and tuck them back into their trousers, smooth their shirts and straighten their ties and send them back to the party, to their wives or girlfriends or whoever they came with to whatever the event is, and he doesn't feel bad about it all.

He doesn't.

His grant money only goes so far and his scholarship is tuition only, and this just fits in with the rest of his life, another secret for him to keep, another side of himself he keeps separate from the others.

So when Jaime knocks on his door at three in the afternoon, coughing up a storm and shivering despite the fine sheen of sweat on her skin, pleading with him to fill in for her at one of Lex Luthor's fundraisers, Clark's skeptical, but he doesn't really consider saying no. He has finals to study for and papers to write and an internship application he hasn't even started on, but he needs the cash, especially if he's going to spend winter break in Smallville, which he really hopes he is. He's been looking forward to it, going home is almost like going on vacation now, except that he has to pay for this place whether he's here or not, so an extra night's work isn't something he's about to turn down.

"It's five hundred in cash, and it's straight-up catering," Jaime says, like Clark still needs convincing. "And Mr. Luthor is serious about that, okay? You're eye candy, nothing else, and if anyone even tries anything he wants to know about it. He's an important client, so don't fuck around, okay?"

Clark nods, and god, not fucking around is so not a problem. But Clark thinks _he_ might be a problem, because Lex Luthor only ever chooses girls to serve at his parties, pretty girls, young and smart, and then Jaime sneezes twice and interrupts his train of thought. "Bless you," Clark says, handing Jaime the box of tissues from the corner of his desk and resolutely not thinking about the last time he used them.

Jaime just grins, looks up at him through watery eyes. "Thanks, Clark. And thanks for doing this on such short notice. You're a real life saver, you know that?"

"Nah," Clark says, blushing a little and rolling his eyes. "So.... Mr. Luthor's expecting me then?"

"Yeah, he's expecting you, Clark. Metropolis Museum, 8pm. He's not thrilled with this, but there's no one else and I knew you'd say yes. Don't be mad, okay?"

Clark smiles his best farm boy smile. "It's okay. Honest. I'm not mad."

"Mr. Luthor throws a lot of parties," Jaime says, sniffling. "He's an important client. A legit client, you know?"

Clark knows. And he's happy to help. He is.  
   


**.   .   .**

  


   
He still happy about it when he arrives at the Museum's staff entrance and Lex Luthor is already there, waiting for him. Clark hopes he isn't late. "I'm counting on you, Clark," Lex says, and Clark feels the words buzz right through to his bones.

It's a good job, serving at a party like this one, even dressed in the pale lavender shirt and snug black pants that fit like they were made for him, exactly his size. Clark knows these are Lex Luthor's signature colors and already he feels like he's been signed, feels Lex's eyes follow him through the gallery, watching him, and Clark's cheeks burn with the feel of it. He's half-hard the whole night, and he finds himself listening to Lex's conversations, the sound of his voice, business and more business and Clark works through his first break because he's listening to Lex and not paying attention to the time.

He spends his second break in the shadowy hallway behind the bar, listening to Lex discuss the reopening of the Metropolis Opera with someone old enough to be his grandmother, his great-grandmother, maybe, but Lex is charming and solicitous and if Clark hadn't been charmed, too, he might've noticed the guy who'd been staring at him for the last fifteen minutes. But he doesn't, not until the guy's already standing too close to Clark, breath reeking of gin and something else, something bitter, and by then, it's too late.

"Well, well, well," the guy says, and Clark remembers him even if he doesn't remember his name, remembers blowing him a few weeks ago, and clearly, the guy remembers Clark, too. He's holding a crisp fifty between his fingers, fingers he's wrapping around Clark's forearm, possessive in a way Clark really doesn't like. "You gonna drop to your knees for me, pretty boy?"

"Sorry," Clark says, smiling a little and pulling his arm away. "Not tonight."

But the guy just smiles his rich-guy smile and presses Clark against the wall, his thigh between Clark's legs, hard muscle rubbing against his dick and Clark's body responds to the friction before his brain can do anything about it.

"Please stop," Clark says, blushing, keeping his hips still by force of will alone. He doesn't want this guy, he doesn't, but it feels so good, and no one ever touches him like this, not since he started working, and if he's honest with himself no one touched him much before he started working, either. Not like this. "Please," Clark says again, weighing the pros and cons of superspeeding and deciding it's too risky, too many questions if this guy makes a scene, which obviously, he's more than capable of. "I really can't do this tonight."

"Maybe I'll suck you instead, hey, pretty boy? Pay you double for the pleasure. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

"No," Clark lies, his dick hot and hard and even without looking he knows it's pushing against the fabric of his uniform, outlined and god, _leaking_ , and now he does use a little extra speed, just to put some space between them. "No. I'm working for Mr. Luthor tonight."

"Bullshit," the guys says, sliding his palm down the front Clark's pants, watching Clark squirm back into the shadows. "If you were Luthor's boy, you sure as hell wouldn't be walking around with this all night."

Clark nearly whimpers, and he's already stumbling a little before he realizes they aren't alone anymore, not at all, because Lex is suddenly _right there_ , backing the guy away from Clark with just his voice, so sharp it stings, and hot, so hot, saying, "Oh, I don't know, I rather like seeing him this way. It's quite a view, don't you think? Then again, it's _my_ view, and you know me, Geoffrey. I don't like to share."

The guy pales, _Geoffrey_ , and he's all apologies now, but Lex isn't listening, he's circling slowly, his eyes on Clark. "I'm going to escort this gentleman to his car, Clark. Please continue to serve my guests in the main room." Lex almost smiles then, and the way he looks at Clark, the way he sounds, Clark feels like he isn't the only one with superpowers. "I want you to wait for me, Clark. After the party. Do you understand?"

Clark isn't sure he understands at all, but he nods just the same, blushing, and says, "Yes, Mr. Luthor," because he honestly never meant for this to happen, and Jaime's going to be furious when she finds out, but right now he's still hard and aching and there doesn't seem to be any other way.

There are _hours_ still, two, maybe three, and Clark swallows hard, closes his eyes for a minute and tries to get himself together enough to go back out there. He isn't sure he can make it, not with Lex's words just buzzing over his skin, but Lex said to wait, said he liked seeing Clark like this, liked to look at him, his dick outlined in fabric and shadows, rubbing against his zipper and god, Clark has to stop thinking about everything else Lex might like before he comes in his pants and spoils Lex's view for real.  
   


**.   .   .**  


  


   
Clark waits in the staff room long after everyone else goes home. He's still in his uniform, not sure if he should change back into his own clothes, not sure of anything but the sound of Lex's footsteps in the gallery, so quiet, moving from piece to piece, returning over and over to center of the room, as if the jeweled breastplate once worn by Alexander the Great holds some long forgotten clue, some sort of vital information, and if it does, Clark thinks he would really like to know its secrets, too. He watches Lex through the walls now, so serious in the half-light, security guards by the doors and no one else around, and Clark doesn't realize he's moving until he's already there, his arms sliding around Lex's waist from behind like they belong there, Lex's grin reflected in the glass, brighter than the armor inside the case and far more dangerous, too.

Lex doesn't stiffen in Clark's embrace, but he doesn't lean into it, either. "What are you doing here, Clark?"

Clark presses a little closer, catches his breath when his erection rubs against the high curve of Lex's ass. "You said to wait for you, Mr. Luthor."

"And I'm pleased that you did, but Mr. Luthor is my father," he says. "I'm just Lex." Clark sees shadows in his eyes when he says it, but Lex blinks them away and turns in the circle of Clark's arms, and Clark sees Lex's grin, sees the faint arch of one quirked eyebrow and Clark thinks maybe Lex is laughing at him, but he doesn't care. Lex's hand is sliding over the front of his pants, long fingers, delicate and strong and Lex's voice, so impersonal but Clark can hear his heart beating, can hear the blood pulsing through Lex's body and he knows the detachment in Lex's voice isn't real, and god, it's all so incredibly hot. Lex squeezes just right, his thumb and index fingers rolling over Clark's foreskin and Clark thinks Lex makes the sweetest sound then, surprise and something else, and Clark wants to hear it again but his dick has other plans, spurting pre-come and god, it feels so good, so good, Lex's eyes on him, Lex's hand, Lex's voice. "Very nice, Clark. Is this for me?"

"Yes." Clark's answer sounds breathier than he's used to, shaky and needy and just, "Lex."

"Are you certain, Clark? You were hard for Geoffrey earlier and as I said, I don't share."

"I wasn't," Clark says, having trouble putting words together because Lex's hand hasn't moved away, hasn't stopped pressing against him, keeping him on edge. "You saw me, before." Clark stutters, twists his hips a little, tries again. "He was there, yeah, but it was _you_. All night. Just you."

Lex leans in then, murmurs against Clark's throat, just sound and lips and god, _teeth_ , and Clark moans, thrusts against Lex's hand. Lex unzips Clark's pants and slips his hand inside, through the opening in his boxers, fingers curling around Clark's dick, soft soft skin, so hard, so hot, and then Lex says, "Come for me, Clark," and fuck, Clark does.

It's all wrong, Clark thinks, backwards, because Lex is licking Clark's come off his own fingers and looking for all world like a cat with his cream, and Clark is flushed and panting and not coordinated enough to fasten his trousers. Clark should be helping Lex button up, not the other way around, but Lex doesn't seem to notice, doesn't seem to care. Lex tangles his fingers in Clark's hair and whispers, "Let me take you home," his breath mixing with Clark's and Clark shivers, Lex's lips so close to his that Clark tastes the sweet sound of Lex's _please_ before he swallows it down, kisses the taste of it away.  
   


**.   .   .**  


  
   
Lex's eyes on him in the limo, silent, his hands splayed on his thighs, and Clark does his best not to squirm, not to stare at Lex's crotch, the thick length of his dick beneath his trousers, a solid line, heavy, and Clark wants to taste, wants to drop to his knees and nuzzle between Lex's thighs and blow Lex right here, the sounds of the city rushing by, Lex's pale skin reflected in the tinted windows, but those eyes keep him pinned him where he is, make him flush, make him want.

Clark feels the motor stop, hears the driver's door open and it's strangely quiet, winter wind and voices and Metropolis, and somewhere not too far away there's glass breaking and music, a symphony, and Lex takes a deep breath and wraps his hand around Clark's. Clark looks up just in time to see Lex's eyes flash before they're out of the limo and their footsteps are echoing through a mostly empty parking garage, Lex's pretty blonde driver right behind them and someone else in front, Lex's bodyguard, dark-haired and gorgeous and Clark doesn't want to think about either of these women, not right now, maybe not ever. Elevator doors open just as they approach and they step inside, all of them, gold shine everywhere and Lex's fingers still twined around Clark's. Clark can't help feeling bright and happy and maybe a little confused, Lex's fingers sliding up, circling his wrist and squeezing and Clark forgets he's still smiling until Lex closes eyes and smiles back.

It's a long way up to the penthouse, seconds and seconds and Clark knows what this looks like, what _he_ looks like and for the first time in forever he doesn't care. He's been catering long enough to know better but he wants this, wants to be Lex's, wants to feel like he's Lex's because feeling like he's Lex's feels like flying, only better, because flying is a little bit lonely and being with Lex is nothing like lonely at all.

Lex tenses beside him and the elevator doors open and only Lex's fingers around his wrist keep Clark still until they get the all clear from Lex's staff. Lex dismisses them with a thank you and a nod and when the elevator doors close again, they're gone and it's just Clark, Lex's hand on his back moving him forward, his steps so close behind Clark's that Clark almost feels their thighs brush. It's so fucking hot, just walking, all they're doing is walking, and Clark thinks he might be shaking, might need the wall Lex finally presses him against just to hold him up, because Lex's mouth on his is so damn good, Lex's hands untucking his shirt, sliding over his skin, tingling and raising goosebumps and then Lex shifts, does something with his hips that makes Clark's legs splay, makes his heart beat in some wild rhythm, eyes squeezed shut and he's afraid he might actually combust. He feels like he's falling apart in all the best ways, like the air is lighter here, brighter, oxygen and Lex, musky and magical and Clark hopes Lex knows what he's doing because Clark really, really doesn't.

He drops to his knees because it's familiar, dimly lit hallway, hot guy, but it's more than that, more desire than anything, nuzzling Lex's belly, tasting his skin, his heat, one hand wrapped around Lex's hip, the other tugging at his zipper, Lex's dick hard and damp and Clark can't resist, doesn't want to, even with Lex tugging at his shoulders and god, _asking him to stop_.

"Clark, what is this?" Lex's voice is breathless and needy and Clark isn't sure he understands the question, but he knows Lex is asking him something, something important and Clark wants to get this right. "Are you working here?"

Working? _Workingworkingworking_ and Clark has no idea, wonders if maybe he's not being enthusiastic enough or something but that can't be it, can't be, because Clark's about to come in his pants, again, and oh, _fuck_. Working. Lex's eyes are blank, but Clark can hear the blood rushing through his body, can hear the breath in his lungs and the swell of his adam's apple every time Lex swallows, and mmm, Lex's throat. Clark wants to lick it, suck it, bruise the skin so Lex feels him there, later, after Clark is gone because, "No," Clark isn't working now, and he really doesn't want to be. "No," he says again, biting his own lip, dragging his gaze up from Lex's throat to meet his eyes. "I'm not like that, Lex. I don't--"

"Then _don't_ ," Lex says, and then he's kissing Clark again, claiming him, growling against his lips, biting as he pulls away. "I don't want what you give them, Clark. I want what you'll give me."

Lex's words echo between them, and oh god, the _idea_ of it, of what Clark will give him, what he'll do, it's almost too much. If Clark hadn't come once already tonight, he probably would now, right here, palm pressed against his own dick as Lex moves away, flushed and certain, three steps down the dimly lit hallway and Clark's trailing behind him, helpless to do anything but. It's a feeling so new, so strange, and Lex is still talking, moving and touching and Clark hears his name, words and sounds and the soft slide of Lex's hands on his skin.

Lex is gorgeous, hard and smooth and god, so hot, so intense, every look, every word, every touch, and Clark knows it means something, means something to both of them, Clark stretched out on Lex's sheets, their clothes strewn over Lex's floor and he doesn't know what this is, the way he can't stop, the way Lex looks at him and time just slows down and opens up and Clark hears himself moaning, panting, and it's so fucking sexy, it is, he knows it is because Lex keeps saying it, over and over, licking the words into his skin, biting and tasting and _fuck_ , Clark wants this. He knows he shouldn't, not when there's only one word in his head, and it's _everything_. Clark's a good guy, he is, he helps when he can and he doesn't ask for anything in return, ever, but Lex's fingers are teasing into him now, slick and hot and Lex's mouth is on his, breathing for both of them because Clark can't remember how, and he wants this. He wants this more than anything. Ever.

"Clark," Lex says, and there's something in his voice, something Clark couldn't refuse even he wanted to, which he doesn't. "Clark, look at me," Lex says, and when Clark opens his eyes Lex is almost glowing, pale gold and banked heat and Lex's cock pulses against Clark's thigh, blood dark and thick and so wet Clark swallows hard and licks his lips, he can't help it, he'd lean up and lick Lex's lips, too, but Lex's eyes on his are looking for something, and Clark wants him to see.

"Clark," Lex says again, his free hand coming up to cup Clark's cheek, thumb dragging across his lips and Clark thinks, _everything, everything_ , his fingers twisting in Lex's sheets, Lex's fingers twisting in his body.

Lex kisses him hard and does something with his hips, something quick and sharp and then Lex's cock is sliding inside and oh, fuck, it almost hurts, almost, but it doesn't, it's so good, so _right_ , Lex's skin and Lex's eyes and Lex looks like Clark feels, like there was something missing before, something he hadn't known he'd forgotten but it's come rushing back now, like a river in flood.

"Clark? Clark, what?" Lex's words fade and his eyes close but his body doesn't stop, his blood rushing wildly through his veins, through his heart and Clark hears every beat, feels it from the inside out. "This changes--"

"Everything," Clark gasps, head thrown back, hips bucking, pressing, up and up and up, come spurting between them, thick and sharp and Lex thrusts hard, harder, and it feels so fucking good, so full, stretched and open and Lex is, _fuck_ , Lex is fucking him and Clark isn't surprised at all to hear his own voice saying, "Everything, Lex. I'll give you everything."

Lex's eyes flash open and his body stills, just for a moment, Lex's cock pumping inside of him, hot, so much hotter than Clark expected, and then Lex shifts, lean muscles and smooth, smooth skin and Clark feels his heart skip a beat, Lex's lips ghosting over his. "Thank you," Lex murmurs, and Clark doesn't know what he thought Lex would say, fingers brushing Clark's hair from his forehead, tracing his cheekbones, the line of his jaw, but he doesn't think that was it.  
   


**.   .   .**  


  
   
"No more catering," Lex says, later, pressed against the marble tiles in his shower, his legs wrapped around Clark's hips and it's like something out of a movie but Clark doesn't care. Lex's bathroom is bigger than Clark's whole apartment, and Clark likes the way Lex's voice sounds in here, steamy and growly and Clark pretends to think about it, leans away from Lex just to get a better view of all that pale skin, flushed now, hot and wet and Lex's hand snaking down his body, wrapping around his dick and stroking slow, like he has all the time in world. Clark presses close again and Lex is saying something but Clark doesn't hear the words. He only hears Lex's voice and Lex's heartbeat and the rush of water all around them, everywhere, in the air, in his mouth, and all Clark can do is swallow hard try not to come too soon.  
   


**.   .   .**  


  
   
"Clark," Lex breathes, wrapping his arms around Clark from behind, leaning up a little to kiss just behind his ear. "I meant what I said," he whispers, sunrise streaming through the penthouse windows and Clark transfixed, naked and beautiful, pinkgold in the morning light. Clark wonders if Lex is referring to something specific, but then decides he doesn't care. He's already promised Lex everything, and it's easy to give him this, too. It's the easiest thing ever.

"I know you did," Clark says, smiling at Lex's reflection in the glass, smiling brighter when Lex smiles back, open and a little stunned and it looks good on him, Clark thinks, it looks right. Jaime is going to kill him and his parents are going to freak, but Clark can't think about them now, not with dawn spreading over Metropolis and Lex looking at him like he's the only thing that really matters, like he's _everything_. "I know you meant it," Clark says, his lips brushing over Lex's, sweet and warm and so, so right. "I meant it, too."  
   
   


\-- END --


End file.
